I’m not him. I’m not him. I repeat it like a mantra, but the rage doesn’t subside.
I look down at her, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. The possessiveness is overwhelming, a hunger that can never be satisfied. I know she feels it too—the same primal need to own and be owned. We’re two sides of the same twisted coin, perfect in our shared madness.
I hover over her, my cock resting against her slick entrance.
“You want it?” I hiss.
“Yes,” she whispers.
That’s all the permission I need. I drive into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt. I don’t give her time to adjust. I pull back and slam into her again, setting a punishing rhythm that’s all about reclaiming what’s mine.
Every thrust is a question, a demand.You still think about them? The others?My hips snap against hers, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room.You still wonder what it would be like with someone else?
I look down between us, at the freshly carved letters on my lower stomach. The blood has smeared, a wet stain against my skin. With each thrust, the blood transfers to her pale stomach.
I press my hand against her stomach, smearing the blood further, mingling it with her sweat. “That’s you. That’s me. There’s no fucking separating us.”
Mine. Mine. Mine. The image of another man touching her, of her looking at someone the way she’s looking at me right now,sends a white-hot flash of possessive fury through me. I want to ruin her for anyone else. I want to fuck her so hard she forgets her own name, only remembersmine.
I shift my angle, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out. Her back arches off the bed, her wrists pulling against the silk ties. Her moans are music to my ears.
“Tell me,” I snarl. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she gasps. “Valerio, I belong to you.”
The words are like gasoline on a fire. I fuck her harder, deeper. I’m unhinged, completely lost in the primal need to own every inch of her, to erase every memory that isn’t of me.
A part of me is disgusted by this raw, animalistic need to possess her. But a larger, darker part revels in it. This is who I am. This is what she does to me. She brings out the monster, and instead of running, she meets it with her own.
I feel her start to tighten around me, her body tensing as her orgasm builds. I reach down, my thumb finding her clit.
“Come for me,” I command.
And she does. The sight of her, lost in ecstasy, triggers me to follow her over the edge with a roar. There’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the scent of sex and blood filling the air.
And in that silence all I can think:Mine. Mine. Motherfucking mine.
.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte
The sheets are pulled so tight around me I can’t move my legs. He tucked me in. It melts my heart. But the spot next to me is cold, the pillow unruffled. He didn’t sleep.
I find his hoodie on the floor and pull it on. The hem hits my mid-thigh, drowning me.
In the bathroom, I use his toothbrush. I want the taste of him in my mouth. I wash my face with his soap, scrubbing until my skin is red, trying to merge our DNA.
Then I go searching for him.
I find him on the balcony.
The New York morning is gray and biting. Valerio is standing there in nothing but black boxers, a cigarette gripped between his fingers. My name, which he carved onto himself, looks even more gnarly in the light… I love it. His back is a wall of muscle, his skin pebbled from the cold. But he looks lost.
I walk up behind him and press my lips to the center of his spine. He’s ice-cold. I wrap my arms around his waist, trying to warm him up, then drag him down to sit on the edge of the lounger with me. He lets me.
We share the cigarette.
